


The Symptoms of Tuesday

by virryth



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Murder, Serial Killer, Thriller, Violence, Yearning, dark amnesia, honestly just a lot of yearning, slight gore, two roomies chilling in an apartment 5cm apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virryth/pseuds/virryth
Summary: Junhui loses his mind once a week, and Mingyu is willing to do whatever it takes to keep him safe.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45
Collections: SVTOXIC FEST 2020





	The Symptoms of Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> The Case Count reads like cut-scene mechanism. The scenes in between aren't support to connect well. :)

**_Case count: 2_ **

Mingyu has been staring at the window for ages. The light drizzle outside casts a gloom over his entire day as he watches tiny droplets of water dot the surface of the glass, trickling down like tears from the window’s slither.

Days like this are when he misses Junhui.

Jeonghan taps the window three times before Mingyu gives him any attention, dragging his cheek on the glass as he looks at his boss. “All you do lately is sigh. Is everything good at home?”

Mingyu scoffs. “You say that like we’re married.”

“Well, are you not?”

“Stop it,” Mingyu whines, the older boy giggles, amused. “Everything is fine, he’s just been acting weird lately.”

Jeonghan just laughs. “Junhui has always been weird though, how is it different this time?”

The older boy has been friends with Mingyu and his roommate for years. Even when he became a prosecutor, Yoon Jeonghan is still taking care of them like the upperclassman he was in college. In fact, Jeonghan and Minghao were the ones who introduced Junhui to Mingyu in the first place.

Jeonghan takes a sip of his strawberry milk, lingering on his mind is the new case from the meeting with the district inspectors. “Gyu, have you heard of the new serial cases?”

“No, why?” 

“The office just received several open cases about a potential serial killer. Crazy M.O, random victims, and as of yet, no lead on any suspect.”

Mingyu gulps, trying his best to not give any reactions Jeonghan might want to see. Working as a paralegal for the criminal prosecution department is an ideal resume booster for Mingyu’s law career, but there are just some things he sees and hears that only promise nightmares. 

“What’s the M.O?”

Jeonghan does a quick check on his surroundings before taking the seat next to Mingyu. “The victim’s heart is carved out with a knife and crushed next to the victim’s body.”

Mingyu jerks back, a cold chill coursing through him as the image slowly registers. “But why crush their heart? That takes too much time, you’d have to break the rib cage, sever all the arteries, and t-take it out…”

Jeonghan tosses his empty milk carton in the bin before waving on the way out, “that’s why I said it’s crazy. Anyway, be careful on your way home.”

_Was Jeonghan just trying to scare him?_

As if Yoon Jeonghan had cursed the sky, it pours on the way home. What seems like light rain earlier had turned into a full storm by the time Mingyu leaves the subway station. He wonders briefly if he should risk the run home before it gets worse or just call a cab to avoid wetting all his court documents.

“Forgot your umbrella again, didn’t you?” a familiar voice calls his attention to the infamous roommate of many conversations with others. Junhui leans against the subway entrance with a large umbrella. He smiles softly and Mingyu thinks he’s seeing stars. 

Mingyu likes to think he was born to meet Junhui, that he’s the second luckiest man alive because whenever he’s in trouble, behind him there is always someone there with a shoulder for him to cry on. Junhui was there on the day he trashed his first LSAT, bringing him to an open rooftop for a picnic with homemade sandwiches along with board games to cheer him up. Junhui was there the day he had forgotten an important document for his first ever court appointment with Jeonghan, running eight blocks in the rain with nothing but a vinyl raincoat to get him what he needed before the court decided to drop the case. It’s not a lie to say he has developed feelings somewhere along the way, and he wishes there was something he could do for Junhui.

“What?” Junhui chuckles in response, covering his mouth with a hand, a habit Mingyu adores. “Why are you staring at me?”

Mingyu shakes his head to avoid Junhui’s gaze, and ducks into their shared umbrella. He’s a tad taller than the older boy, but he always feels smaller next to Junhui. Perhaps it’s the comforting way Junhui speaks, the low register that warms him up on a cold day like this.

“You’re the best, Junnie.”

“You’re cooking today.”

“Of course, why not?”

**_Case count: 2_ **

Junhui spends the next Monday in his room. Mingyu’s left for work half a day ago but the room facing East still misses his presence. As sunlight pours its last vigor through the big window, warming up his entire room in preparation for perpetual darkness in just a few hours, Junhui relishes the warmth it brings. He’s an early riser, and the rise and set of the natural world gives him a sense of time as he sits by the window with his laptop open on most days, typing away any story that comes to mind. 

_Time_. 

It’s what he’s missing lately. It’s the one thing Junhui has been hiding from his roommate.

His week no longer consists of seven days, only five and a half, and in just a few hours, he’ll lose it all again to the twisted symptoms of his Tuesdays. 

He never catches the moon on Mondays as his memories fade away. He can’t even catch Mingyu on his way back from overtime and can only resort to a few scribbles on the yellow notepad pasted onto their fridge, signaling his absence for the night and the morning after. 

Junhui sighs, getting up as he repeats the dreaded routine of his Mondays. A note on the fridge, the notebook he usually takes on the way to Jihoon’s, and his phone--all sealed tightly in his bag.

Junhui takes the subway to the bridge that unites the two sides of the river, and puts all of his belongings into the station’s locker.

It used to be different. Junhui and Jihoon have been friends forever. They used to write away on the greens of campus of any ideas that come to mind. Every Tuesday they would sit down with bottles of energy drink and instant mixed coffees and write till they drop. It was fun and lighthearted, and when the opportunities arrive for them to be published, they still promise to uphold the traditions of Tuesday. 

It used to be Junhui’s highlight of the week. 

Instead of heading to Jihoon’s apartment, Junhui finds a spot underneath the bridge right outside the station and sits, letting himself go as his heartbeat quickens to signal the start of his lost time. Junhui lays on the grass, wishing earnestly that maybe this time, when he wakes up again in his warm bedroom on Wednesday morning, he’ll finally remember.

**_Case count: 3_ **

“The world is a scary place, isn’t it?”

Jeonghan idly mumbles as he flips through the case file that has been giving every single cop at the precinct a headache. Another victim with their heart crushed opened. Male. One of the many random victims he’s had the misfortune to know. 

“Are you talking to me?” 

“No, Mingyu. I’m talking to myself because I am the only one here.” Sometimes Jeonghan really wonders what’s going on in the boy’s head. “We had another victim last night, though the autopsy report said he’s been dead for a few days now. With all my current cases done, _I’m_ probably the one they’re pushing this case on--I can already feel it.”

Mingyu snickers, the iconic _heheh_ that makes Jeonghan thinks he’s just a young boy full of charm, not ready for the world. The glee that follows takes Jeonghan all the way back to college. 

“You think it’s funny now, wait for the many reports I’ll have you write once the case is solved.”

“But don’t you have Seokmin? I’m not your _only_ assistant!”

“Seokmin is busy.” 

Jeonghan isn’t wrong. Ever since the promotion, Seokmin has been swamped with work. Mingyu misses their Friday hangout where Seokmin stays over for dinner, and Junhui would cook so the two can play a few rounds of games. Perhaps he just misses Junhui’s cooking.

“How’s it going lately with Junnie? Didn’t you say he’s been acting strange?”

Mingyu pauses, unsure if this is something he should share. Indeed Junhui has been acting strange. Mingyu knows he has a weekly schedule with Jihoon from across town and every week he would take the train out and stay the night. They were writing buddies since college, and now published writers that still keep up with their weekly writing traditions. As far as Mingyu knows, they’re very close. Close enough for Junhui to leave early on Monday and come back Wednesday; the whole Tuesday is solely reserved for Jihoon. Mingyu can’t help but think that maybe… just _maybe_ , their friendly relationship has finally blossomed into something else in the times they spent together.

It’s really none of Mingyu’s business what Junhui does on his own time. They’re just roommates after all, _good friends_ if he’s pushing it; Junhui don’t owe him anything.

“Kim Mingyu, are you listening to me?”

Mingyu breaks away from his train of thought to Jeonghan waving a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, I wasn’t.”

Jeonghan sighs. “Whatever it is, I hope you sort it out. Come to me if either of you need any help.” 

Mingyu smiles, feeling a bit reassured that Jeonghan will have their backs indiscriminately. Perhaps blind insurance is just something he needs in these times of uncertainty.

It isn’t raining today when Mingyu returns home, a stack of new cases on one arm and his briefcase on the other. He spots Junhui in their shared living room, curled up on the sofa with a mug of warm milk in his hand. He looks up when Mingyu enters, and the smile that lights up any room he’s in greets Mingyu. 

“You’re late. Dinner is getting cold.”

“Did you wait for me?” 

“Of course,” Junhui giggles, “aren’t you doing the dishes today?”

He’s always been like this. Carefree and full of energy, Mingyu wonders if he’ll ever know the turmoil that eats away at Mingyu’s sanity with every breath he takes. Something is off about Junhui that Mingyu can’t place. He’s smiling but his body language is guarded, cross-legged and arm on the floor, not looking at Mingyu. 

“How was your day?” 

“Like usual,” Junhui replies, still smiling in that sort of artificial assurance he thinks Mingyu doesn’t see. “Got a few more pages in before the deadline this week. How was yours?”

Mingyu joins him on the sofa, sitting a bit closer than normal. “New murder case at the office. Might help you with your storyboard, but a little scary if I’m honest.”

Junhui chuckles and ruffles Mingyu’s hair. “Then we won’t look at them before dinner. Come on, I’ll heat it up for you.”

Mingyu feels the warmth even when Junhui has left for the kitchen, and the ache in his chest subsides only when he returns with two plates of soup. His specialty. 

Their lives are always very demanding of them. Mingyu’s demands his utmost attention, his wit, and occasionally, a lot of his time. Junhui’s job demands his concentration and experience, even the experiences he does not have. Mingyu has had to watch Junhui put himself through hell just to gather what he calls an _appropriate amount of materials_ for his work. He’s had to watch Junhui interview dangerous criminals, walk in their shoes for months, and--if he’s lucky--come out with minimal scarring to his mind. 

They say workaholism is only the first step to obsession. Mingyu wonders if Junhui is already on the latter spectrum.

“Our lease is up next month, right?”

Mingyu pauses, hand gripping the mug he’s just brought out from the cupboard. They’ve been living together for three years, never once has Junhui asked about the lease. It’s always been Mingyu taking care of the legality of their living situations. He’s the lawyer in the house, after all. 

So why would he bring that up now?

Eyes still glued to the laptop opened in front of him, Junhui continued. “I was thinking maybe it’s time you get the east-facing room--you’ve always liked to watch the sunrise in the morning. As for me, Jihoon’s flatmate is moving out and he’s looking for someone. The commute to my publisher will be easier and I won’t have to--”

_“What are you saying?”_

Junhui finally looks up, and what he sees bewilders him. In just a few seconds, Mingyu closes their distance and returns to the seat next to Junhui. If he was anyone else, Junhui would think Mingyu is furious. The emotions in his eyes radiate off him in waves, and Junhui feels every single rise and fall pouring out of him. 

Mingyu doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he places both hands on the sides of Junhui’s head and brings him close, so close their foreheads touch. He’s been too busy thinking about Jihoon that he hasn’t had time to assess his own feelings. 

Moving out? How could Junhui think of such a thing? Has their three years together been so bad that he wants a change of scenery? But if he does, what can Mingyu do? Is there anything he _can_ do if Junhui chooses to leave their shared apartment? To leave _him_?

The questions come and go like a tornado that encircles his mind, wrecking everything he’s built in their little corner of happiness. 

_Is Junhui no longer happy here with him?_

Junhui doesn’t move away. They stay like that for a while, eyes locked and lips close enough to touch. Perhaps he knows how hard it must be for Mingyu, with him suddenly bringing this up. But it’s something he must do--something he _needs_ to do. And so he sits and lets Mingyu contemplate over the elephant in the room. Whether he leaves or not, Junhui is potentially changing Mingyu’s whole routine, and he knows how Mingyu is with his routines. Though Junhui secretly wishes his move would affect Mingyu just a little more.

And just like that, the moment vanishes. Mingyu walks back to the kitchen with his head low, the last thing he wanted was a confrontation with Junhui. Ultimately, there are no other ties between them but in friendship and living situations, Junhui is free to live wherever he wishes. Mingyu will have to respect that.

“Jun, will you...” Mingyu says after a while, drying his hands with a dishcloth for the fifth time. “Will you at least let me know? When you’re moving out, that is.”

Mingyu doesn’t dare look up. What would he hope to see, actually, not sympathy, and certainly not pity. Mingyu doesn’t yet know how he feels, how can he even allow himself expectations? 

“Of course. Goodnight, Mingyu.” is all Junhui says before heading back to his room. 

**_Case count: 3_ **

“How are you doing?”

The doctor inquires as Junhui sits down on the white canvas of the room. He hates the lab. Everything seems so white and pristine, artificial without a sign of life or the pain that often accompanies it. The bright light and chilling temperature makes the hair on his arms stand up, and Junhui tries his best to not notice the arrays of sharp tools laid down in a nearby lab bench.

“I’m not doing so well,” is all he can manage before his voice starts to shake and the little bit of sanity leaves his breath. _I’m scared_ , he wants to say, but to someone else besides Hansol. Someone who resonates with those words and feels deep in his heart the same way Junhui does. 

“I’ve been doing research over your symptoms.” Dr. Chwe flips over the file he’s had on Junhui, all the while keeping his voice even and slow as if he’s trying to gently break terrible news to the older boy. “You reported irregular heartbeat patterns before midnight every Monday night that persist until… Wednesday morning, you weren’t sure? But your EKGs are normal with only faint traces of the activities.”

Junhui nods. Hansol spends a few more seconds staring at the heart graph before setting it down next to Junhui on the bench, closing the file. 

“What if you’ve just been sleeping at home, hyung? Or sleep-walking? Are you _sure_ you’ve never had sleep-walking symptoms?”

“Hansol,” Junhui calmly reminds the younger boy, exhausted from going over the same details in his head every day when he wakes up. “We went over this. I found muds on my shoes and bags, sometimes deep cuts on my skin that would have woken me up otherwise. I don’t remember _anything_ because I’m not--.” The words disgusts him even as he says it, “I’m not _myself_ during that time. I can _feel_ it.”

The doctor purses his lips the same way Junhui remembers from their college years, so much that Junhui almost instinctively reaches out to ruffle his hair if not for the grim look on the doctor’s face. 

“I’ve never seen this before, hyung. The substance you took from my lab for your last case study… it’s new, and it’s never been tested on humans or animals. It’s hard for me to help you without further research. I’ve made a prototype for the antidote if you want it. It’ll knock you out for a day, but it’s not general anesthesia in a sense that it’s also supposed to stop your heart from going above one hundred beats per minute.”

Junhui waits patiently for a _but_ from the doctor whose eyes seem filled with worries for his well-being.

“But?” Junhui prompts, knowing Hansol won’t try to stop him from taking the antidote.

“Like I said,” Dr. Chwe massages the scowl already forming between his brows. “It’s _never_ been tested before, and I don’t have a clue of any potential side effects. It’s _possible_ that--”

The desperation in the doctor’s voice mirrors the brewing storm in Junhui’s mind, but he tries his best not to let it show. Instead, he smiles to lessen the gravity of the situation. He knows Hansol is breaking a lot of medical and ethical laws to help him, and he hopes his gratefulness comes through with every word he utters. “Just tell me. I can take it.”

“If you truly are switching to… _someone else_ during this time, it is possible that you won’t be able to switch back unless _he_ chooses to.”

Junhui does everything he can to suppress the shakiness in his voice. If he keeps it together enough to fool Hansol, then maybe Mingyu will also be fooled.

“I might lose myself completely.”

Hansol sighs, looking away as he fiddles with the file and tidying up what is already a neat and closed folder. “Don’t decide now. You have a few days left until the next Tuesday--call me before then.

**_Case count: 3_ **

Mingyu is welcomed with absolute silence when he returns home on Tuesday.

Junhui is out, like usual, and on the fridge are the cute scribbles he always makes Mingyu on such days where he has to eat dinner alone. Except today is a little bit special. Today, Mingyu pretends like this is how he will have to live for the rest of his time here. Without Junhui. 

_It’ll be good practice._ Mingyu thinks, _for when he’s gone._

Except fate never works out quite like one wishes, because in the middle of dinner he gets a call from Jihoon.

“Hello?” He picks up begrudgingly, wondering why Jihoon has to call when Junhui is with him.

“Mingyu? Is that you?”

“Yes, hyung.” Mingyu sighs. “This is me, eating alone.”

“Is Junhui there with you?”

Suddenly dinner is the last thing he wants to think about. Mingyu looks back at the note that dates today in Junhui’s own handwriting. “What do you mean? Isn’t he with you?”

“Right,” Jihoon paces, “he _should_ be.” 

Pause. 

Long pause.

Why isn’t Jihoon saying anything?

“Hyung, _what’s going on?_ ”

Jihoon sighs, seemingly racking his brain for an answer that can satisfy the younger boy. 

“Sorry, Mingyu. He told me not to tell you. He hasn’t been coming for a few weeks now.”

“What do you mean? A few _weeks_?! Where is he then if he’s not with you?”

Mingyu realizes he’s yelling at this point, but he doesn’t care. Why would Junhui lie to him about coming to Jihoon, and _moving_ to Jihoon’s across the river? He can’t even begin to imagine where Junhui is or what he’s doing now. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.” Jihoon apologizes, sensing the panic in Mingyu’s voice. “He missed a meeting last month, and when I called to ask, he told me he won’t be coming for a while. He told me not to tell you.”

The last thing Mingyu hears is the rumbling of the sky that brings him back to reality. He looks outside the big window in the living room, as if fate has guided him, to see Junhui illuminated by a flash of lightning. He stands at the corner of their block looking straight at their home. 

Mingyu doesn’t waste any time. In just a second, he bolts out with nothing but his keys. It’s raining cats and dogs again, but Mingyu doesn’t hesitate as he runs after Junhui. His figure pops in and out from the shadow, illuminated on by the flickering street lights that guide his path. Why is he running? Can’t he hear Mingyu calling out to him?

Six blocks into their chase, Mingyu follows Junhui into an alley, a dead-end, where it’s difficult to make out five feet in front. The rain is merciless in their reunion, but eventually Junhui comes to a standstill with his back towards Mingyu.

“ _Jun!_ ” Mingyu calls out many times with no response.

Junhui seems to be letting the rain wash over him, his head tilts high and his eyes closed. In his hand is something Mingyu can’t make out, and the rain seems to be washing away something dark and murky from his body. 

And then he falls, arms and legs giving out as his body plunges towards the pavement.

**_Case count: 5_ **

The smell of liquor hangs in the air as Junhui opens his eyes to greet the sun. It’s Wednesday morning but he can already hear his roommate making noises in the living room.

 _Strange._ Mingyu should be at work at this time. He must be late again. 

It’s funny because just as Junhui gets out of bed, Mingyu knocks on his door to announce his departure.

“There’s left-over in the fridge, Junnie! Don’t forget to have breakfast!”

Junhui opens his door just in time to hear the door shut behind Mingyu as he scrambles to catch the morning subway, and it makes him smile knowing some things never change. He hopes Jeonghan doesn’t scold him too harshly today.

Junhui spends his morning wondering what he was doing last night that caused his entire body to stiffen. As usual, he has no memory whatsoever of any events that transpired. What could he have done last night in particular that makes even sitting down painful? 

The smell of liquor disappears as Junhui opens the fridge to find a bottle of acetone tucked haphazardly next to the milk as if it was put there by mistake. But there can’t be any mistake, Mingyu is so anal about the little things in his fridge that everything needs to be set in their own places, or he’ll have a hard time finding them.

Perhaps it was Junhui who put it there?

The smell of acetone gets stronger and stronger as Junhui approaches his own room. Junhui starts to notice that the doorknobs around the house, in particular, looks like they had been wiped down repeatedly with acetone. His keys, his hat, the handle on the empty glass sitting on the counter.

It’s a smell so pungent, so repulsive and stripped of everything that makes his skin crawl. A scent so repulsive Mingyu had to hide it with the wine, and this scent thrusts Junhui away from the apartment on that particular Wednesday morning.

 _No_. It’s not the acetone that pushed him away from the comfort of his own home. There is something underneath all the blankets of asepsis Mingyu had tried to cast over the whole house. Something familiar, something forbidden that got Junhui sprinting outside like a mad man.

The smell of blood.

**_Case count: 5_ **

Junhui hisses at the nail that nipped his left foot. He’s gone and done it, standing at the intersection in his sweats with not a single possession but the traffic card Mingyu has given him on his first day in the city, and his phone that keeps going into voicemail when he calls Mingyu.

“Pick up, _please._ Mingyu, please.” Junhui pleads, hands trembling slightly.

Junhui keeps walking, almost running, trying his best to ignore the sharp pain and the bits of blood dreading on the floor of the subway station. The last thing he remembered was leaving the house on Monday afternoon with the usual scribbles on the fridge’s notepad. He’s left his bag at the subway station and finds himself in the same spot underneath the bridge as his mind takes over his body. He remembers laying on the grass, legs tied up to the anchor he uses to keep himself in place when the arrhythmic hours take over, and that was it. 

The locker is empty just as he had predicted, and the next fifteen minutes on the subway to Dr. Chwe’s lab is as agonizing as ever as he tries to collect his thoughts. He curses underneath his breath as cold sweat pools on his forehead. His bloodshot eyes startle onlookers, and the perpetual scowl on his face is an unsightly scar on his handsome features. His headache is worse this time. The lapses in memories have stretched, and he doesn’t even remember coming home, much less taking his things from the locker. The repulsive smell of acetone lingers on his hands, and he flinches at the thought of Mingyu having to wipe the blood off his fingers and nails.

Junhui arrives at the lab to find it closed. Shut down. _Relocated_. His call at the phone booth to Jihoon goes straight to voicemail, and for the first time since his first time lapse, Junhui feels like he is truly alone in the world again. 

_“The world will keep moving, as long as you are too.”_

The words Mingyu had said ring in his ears, worsening his headache. _But Mingyu, what can I do when the world moves on without me? Or worse, with someone who isn’t me?_

The city that used to spark joy with every step he takes now traps him with bustling noise and sustenance. Everyone else has so much time, all seven days of the week, that it must seem trivial to them. In the last few weeks, Junhui has learned to treasure every waking moment as himself now that he can no longer afford that luxury. But if there is a chance that he had done something terrible, something so _wrong_ that the thought of it makes his skin crawl and his head spin, did he even deserve to live as himself anymore?

And just like that, Junhui spends the rest of his Wednesday wandering endlessly around the city that haunts his dream, only to find himself right back to the river where he had once considered ending it all. 

Maybe it’s in everyone’s best interest that he does.

**_Case count: 5_ **

Mingyu gets off later that day to an apartment so cold he would not believe anyone was home. Yet Junhui sits in the middle of the ice, staring into space. The bottle of acetone lies hauntingly next to him. 

“Mingyu,” Junhui breathes, his voice lacking a certain organic trait. “You’re back.”

The tremble in Junhui’s voice stirs up layers of uncertainties in Mingyu. He’s never seen him so vulnerable and devoid of life, his knees drawn to his chest and his hair unkempt.

“Aren’t you cold?” Mingyu drapes a blanket over Junhui’s shoulders and pulls him into an embrace. “Your foot is bleeding, I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

“No,” Junhui’s voice is so small that Mingyu almost didn’t hear him. “Stay with me.”

Junhui’s hand, once strong enough to wrestle Mingyu to the ground, is now clinging to his sleeve with such desperation uncanny of his usual character. Mingyu sees a broken man-- _no_ , he’s just a boy at this point. Mingyu holds onto Junhui tightly but softly like he’s made of fragile glass that will break if Mingyu so much as presses him too hard. He trembles underneath Mingyu’s touch. Small and vulnerable. Gone are the stars in his eyes and the magnetic force that draws attention from everyone he gazes upon. A force so strong it’s almost a spell that forces Mingyu to look only at him, but Mingyu looks regardless. He’s already made up his mind when he met Jeonghan this morning. When he destroyed the incriminating evidence against Junhui. Nothing is going to make him look away now.

Junhui musters the remaining amount of strength he has and speaks the mere sentence Mingyu is terrified of.

_“What have I done?”_

Silence. 

A minute goes by without so much as a hick in their barren ambience. 

“Mingyu,” Junhui’s voice breaks a little the longer he waits. “I have a right to know. What is wrong with me?”

“What were you thinking of doing?”

Junhui doesn’t answer. He won’t look at Mingyu. His hands ball into fists that lay stubbornly by his side until Mingyu forces him to look up.

“Jun, don’t be foolish.”

“It would be better for everyone.”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. Instead he presses his lips to Junhui, silencing the many dangerous thoughts permeating his mind. It’s the first time he’s let his true feelings float on the surface of their seamless friendship. It’s something he’s always been so afraid to show the world. 

“ _Not for me._ ”

And just like that, it explodes. Junhui opens up and Mingyu feels all the tingling sensations of passion, blossoming in his brain and his heart and his lips and behind his eyelids. A low grunt escapes Junhui’s throat, and Mingyu melts just a little bit more inside. His lips are so soft, inviting, and warm that all Mingyu can think about is erupting volcanoes with his feelings spilling over the seam so tightly sewn by the boundary of their friendship.

His thoughts are filled with Junhui. The way his shoulders feel underneath his hands, hot breath on his skin. The small stream of tears wet on his face. Mingyu feels it all and takes it all, letting Junhui fall upon him like an avalanche of doubt and fear, and hoping Junhui finds solace in just this moment they share. He feels Junhui’s heartbeat underneath his palm. Rapid and irregular. 

And all of a sudden, everything stops.

Junhui’s eyes glaze over, and his fingers dig deeper in the blades of Mingyu’s shoulders. The few seconds he stares at Mingyu make all the chills crawl up his skin. In his guts, Mingyu knows something has gone terribly wrong.

“Junhui?” he whispers, his voice barely coming out as fear paralyzes him. 

But the person he calls is no longer there. 

**_Case count: 5_ **

It feels less stuffy here, out in the street with the many strangers, the many _targets_ available to his naked eyes.

The cold room has stiffened his joints and numbed his muscles. He doesn’t even feel the cold anymore, not like earlier, but the little droplets of rain falling so perfectly from the sky dissuade him otherwise.

Not that it’s a bad thing, there’s less to clean up and it all works in his favor.

 _Weird_ . It’s not Tuesday, but here he is with one hundred and forty hours left on the clock until the next transformation. _Free._

He doesn’t know what triggers it, but he knows if he doesn’t hurry on his quest, the beatings will get worse as the night fades out. There are a lot of people today, so many to choose from but he’s never been a picky one. He just needs one unlucky soul to crush and settle the arrhythmia. His heart still itches with the lingering warmth on his skin, a little faster than the usual tempo, but he’ll make do, and when he’s done, all will be right again.

He follows the next victim across town, keeping a safe distance and pretending to pull out his phone once in a while to avoid detection--turned off, of course. It’s best not to alarm the lamb before the sacrifice. 

There are certain cues people display when they think they’re safe. When they arrive home, perhaps, or somewhere close to home, and their guards melt away. No more looking side-way or around at their surrounding. Their mind becomes one-tracked and that track leads to the front of their door. That window of opportunity, that secret moment of security, is the sweet moment when he strikes. 

One from the back, knocking the victim out cold to the ground. 

One from the front, just for safe measures. Can’t have them screaming while he’s carving their heart.

And when the absolute silence dawn upon his entire being, so quiet that all he hears is the overwhelming heartbeat, the _thump! thump! thump! thump! thump!_ that drives him _mad_ resurfaces, that’s when he begins. A knife to the heart. Swiftly and effectively ending a life. 

He relishes the moment, taking his time, carving, guessing where the heart lies and shivering in excitement that maybe he’ll get to pull out an intact one this time.

Breaking the ribcage is another story. It’s arduous work, but this isn’t his first rodeo. The sturdy hammer he’s retrieved from the locker swings once. Twice. Three times. Easier than it sounds--at least for him. 

Today’s prize is a little chipped at the edges, warm and still has some life to it. The knife he used poked a pretty hole right at the center, but otherwise everything is intact and well. So precious, the little thing. So small, yet the heart of it all. 

A low chuckle escapes his throat, humbled at the little pun he’s just made. 

He takes it in both hands, breathing in slowly as he braces his senses for that moment. His fingers curl inward slowly, then with more force and finally a _splash._

His heartbeat quickens before slowly returning to normal. The elated sensation sprints like a drug to his brain, much like how one would reach their climax at the end of the night, overwhelming all his senses. 

That moment of climax is when he feels _absolutely alive._

**_Case count: 6_ **

Mingyu has been running for the longest time, only briefly slowing to catch his breath as the horrid heat pour down on him like a nightmare, blanketing all the dreads he felt since this morning. 

He doesn't have a clue where he is or where he’s going, he just needed to run. Foolishly. Madly. Straight into the void to the sound of the world falling all around him just like how he had been with his feelings.

 _This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be._ Absurd thoughts bounce around in his head. _You’re a lawyer. You’re supposed to live upholding the law._

Except it’s never that simple. He knows that at the end of the road, if there ever is an end, there will be someone waiting. A grim reaper of some sort to take all of his doubts away with a strike of their scythe. He begs for the sweet relief that will free him from the shackle and guilt, building up ever since he discovered the bloodstain hoodie tossed haphazardly into the garbage disposal outside their shared home. He implores the world to fall, so that he can leave the plunging cliff where his head hangs just waiting to be chopped, waiting to be mauled by the tigers that chase them. He wants it to end so badly, he’s willing to give up his own life.

He also wants to see him at the end of this road. Not any grim reaper waiting to confine him or to take him away from his loved one. Just him, smiling with open arms, the man who keeps him grounded even when he’s out of reach.

_Stop. What you’re doing is wrong._

Of course he knows that. He knows the moment he sees him he would lose all reasons, but he still chooses to walk. Run. Straight into the protective light that person encompasses, and hopefully far, far away from the darkness of his future. 

Maybe that’s when reality will start to make sense again.

**_Case count: 6_ **

“What are you planning to do?” 

Jeonghan crosses his arms as he interrogates the man before him. The sight of Junhui in handcuffs bleeds like a stab wound on his chest, coiling him into waves of bitterness. 

“Arrest me.”

“I don’t have the authority to do that. I'm a prosecutor, not a cop, Junnie.”

“Then kill me.”

“Do it yourself.”

“I _can’t_ ! You have no idea how many times I’ve tried, but I can’t.He takes over and I lose control and more people die. I-I can’t do it. I’m begging you.” 

Never has Jeonghan seen Junhui recoil with such anger and resentment, his voice breaking with every word he breathes. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days. His hair disheveled and his spirit seemingly _broken_ . The sunken marks on his rather handsome face is a stark contrast against the very same boy Jeonghan has met at a distant time. The same boy who’s called him _hyung_ with a smile of a soul who can never do wrong. 

He came to Jeonghan on a rainy day with blood all over his clothes. 

“It’s not mine,” he had weeped. “Help me.” 

Without hesitation, Jeonghan had given him shelter and anything that he needed to regain his senses. He’d listened to his story, his suspicions, and his doubt and guilt dating back to the last few weeks. He had looked so bleak. The light front his eyes replaced by hollow austerity that he’s only seen in terminally ill patients or death-row inmates. Jeonghan was willing to do anything for that boy, but what Junhui wishes is something he can never fulfill.

“ _Please_ , hyung.”

Junhui begs until his voice is hoarse. His spirit so worn and his desire so crippled with the overwhelming guilt that crushes him the same way he crushed the hearts of eight innocent lives. He’s come to Jeonghan to cash in the favor from years back, hoping to be locked away and punished for all he’s done, but Jeonghan had denied him the confinement he deserved and instead kept him locked up underneath his basement.

“I’m sorry, Jun. Hansol gave me the sedative before he left. I’ll let Mingyu take care of the rest.”

“ _No_! Not Mingyu, please don’t let him come!”

“He wants to.” 

“You can'tlet him!” Junhui’s voice echoes a soul ruptured into a million pieces. 

Jeonghan hates seeing him like this. 

“You’re right. I can’t. But what you don’t understand is that there are people who are here for you, who would be willing to _lay down their lives_ to keep you safe! Now will you stop acting so pitiful and _let us help you?!_ ”

Junhui drops his head low as tears well up on his lids. He’s never felt so hopeless but full of hope at the same time. _Why? Why him?!_ Why is it happening to him? He wants to live. He wants to spend the rest of his life with Mingyu and the people he loves. He wants to write, he wants a cat, he wants to travel the world. But he can’t have any of that--he doesn’t _deserve_ any of that because of what he’s done.

“You’re not the one at fault! _He_ is. Don’t let him win over you.” Jeonghan shouts--he tries to. “Mingyu has made his choice. You need to make yours."

When Junhui speaks again, his voice is audible, clear, almost convinced of his fate. “You should leave, hyung. You can’t let Mingyu near me. Promise you won’t let anyone near me.”

It’s an earnest request, one Jeonghan will remember for the rest of his life. There’s only so much he can say and do to appease Junhui, and he’d like to think he did his best. _Hell_ , he’s breaking so many moral and legal boundaries being here, but Junhui knows that. Jeonghan leaves the keys on the table before heading out, wishing him good luck in his endeavors with a gentle reminder that he will always be here for Junhui.

**_Case count: 8_ **

The last time Mingyu was here, he wasn't alone. 

Junhui had asked for three full cups of fresh walnuts from the local grocery, and he had pestered Mingyu for days to accompany him because the dogs here are frankly too scary.

Junhui had been in a good mood that day, _giddy_ , even, as he skips around the store, pointing excitedly at the variety of produce like he’s never been in an organic grocer before.

“Jihoon was chewing on these,” he pointed to a jar filled to the brimmed with cashews, “he said it helps him think and dissolves his block.”

Mingyu had pretended to believe him and bought a few cups of those along with the walnuts, and Junhui had been happy, so happy, on the way home that he almost forgot to take off his shoes at the door.

Mingyu is here alone today, looking for something that no longer lingers. He’s been wandering around a lot lately, here and there, to the places they had visited together. He’s been to the cafe a couple of times and sat in the same chair Junhui used to sit, hoping to capture whatever essence and thoughts he had had. He’s been to the park and leaned against the same tree Junhui used to rest, taking a nap as he sketches his thoughts in the clouds and channels the feverish passion he’s had for his writing. He even stood on the same bridge across town near Jihoon’s apartment where Junhui had stood and felt the wind caressing through his hair, laughing and giggling every time a dry leaf collided with his skin, and yet nothing had worked. Nothing gave him an idea of what Junhui may be thinking or where he may be. Nothing he did gave him any clue to Junhui’s whereabouts. 

It’s been four days since the night Junhui left--since Mingyu let fear take over his heart, and Mingyu has been wallowing in bottomless guilt that comes in the aftermath. If only he had reached out his hands. If only he had chased after Junhui, or whoever it was in Junhui’s body. If only he had _tried._

_Why did he spare me?_

The question keeps him up at night. The same question he asks himself every waking seconds of his days. Jeonghan asks him the same thing. Jihoon did, too. If the _other_ persona kills indiscriminately, why spare him?

“Good evening, Mingyu!” The old man at the counter smiles, surprised that he’s alone. 

He was here last Saturday. He was here _every_ Saturday, in fact, on the way back from work to pick up snacks for Junhui. He always runs out of them so quickly. 

“Will you be taking the usual today?”

Out of habit, Mingyu almost affirms until he remembers the half-full jar of walnuts on top of their wooden table back home, untouched ever since that night.

Mingyu exits the shop with the same bags of walnuts and cashews in his hand, signing as he watches the billowing wind rakes the leaves off a decaying tree. Autumn comes fast and easy after the storm this week, and makes many promises never to be fulfilled. It was chilly, almost like a physical manifestation of the apartment without Junhui. He wonders if Junhui is keeping warm. He never remembers to bring his gloves or scarf on days like this and always had to stuff his hands in someone’s pocket. 

Mingyu smiles, the first in days, as he recalls how Junhui shudders all the way to his hands, his deep voice becoming more childish as they go up and up the harsher the wind blows. Mingyu misses the routines they once had together.

Night approaches too fast. He returns to an apartment without any light. Without checking, he knows Junhui would not be in his room. There would not even be a note scribbled on their notepad with the usual message that Junhui will be back early on Wednesday morning. In the fridge, there would not be dinner Junhui had made. He would not be greeted by that chippering voice that mirrors the light drizzle Junhui loves. 

Mingyu looks out the window to see the same sprinkling from the sky, almost waiting for something to happen.

_Forgot your umbrella again, didn’t you?_

Mingyu’s never been one to sit around and wait for things to happen. He’s a doer. And if Junhui needs to be dragged back here, if Mingyu has to clean up all the blood again from his nails, so be it. 

**_Case count: 8_ **

The moment Mingyu sees Junhui, all of his fears, doubts, and hesitations vanished. Every waking cell in his body is telling him to run, but his feet stand firmly as he tries to look for any sign of humanity left from the man he knew. Mingyu searches for any remnants of sanity in his eyes, now glazed over with a red brown hue as if someone has taken a shaking fingertip and smeared his beautiful irises with the blood of his victim. 

There are none, no traces of the man Mingyu had known, and the atomic roar of thunder only seems to be on the assailant’s side. 

Mingyu collapses to the ground. The first wave of fear ripples over him and he cries out, hands and feet drawn together as he tries to block out the sound. Mingyu isn’t afraid of Junhui, he never has and never will be, but the storm has not been kind and he’s ashamed of this childish fear that forbids him from running to the man he loves. 

He stays on the ground. One rumble. Two. Four. 

“J-Jun,” he whimpers and finds himself pathetic for wanting the help of a man who has already lost his mind.

Except Junhui opens his eyes to the world on fire.

Splashes of reds, oranges, and yellows color his vision as he feels the room spiraling down beneath his feet. Junhui looks around for any sign of life. He doesn’t know where he is, nor what he was doing in the back alley of a pub with the sky mercilessly pouring down on him. Something sticky lingers in his hand, but only the flashes of fire dance around his palms when he gazes upon them.

One minute.

Junhui doesn’t hear anything. He’s in the middle of a storm yet the clamors of rain nor the roars of thunder reached his ears. It feels hot, even, nearly as hot as the pain digging in his side. He doesn’t hear anything but the small whimpers from the boy crouching by the entry, arms covering his head, shaking.

Two minutes in.

The sky continues to pour as Junhui walks towards the boy, slowly, dragging his heavy body across the pavement, yet he feels light as a feather. His shoes hit the ground with ease as if he’s gliding on clouds, weightless and agile, floating.

Three.

“ _Mingyu_.”

The voice is small, trembling, and Mingyu couldn’t hear it over the sound of the sky splitting in half. 

Junhui thought he must be dreaming. A flash of lightning illuminates his vision and Junhui sees the outline of the pitiful boy who continues to cover his ears and duck his head as if he wants to hide from the world, from his fears, from all the noises Junhui couldn’t hear. 

“ _Mingyu_ ,” he speaks again, louder this time and finally hearing his own voice in the deafening silence between nothingness and Mingyu’s soft whimpers.

Mingyu should be afraid, but for some reason, he isn’t. Even at the mercy of the hands that ended the innocent lives of many, Mingyu would rather die in fear of thunder than in fear of Junhui. He never wants to do that again. 

Mingyu trembles as arms circled him, stroking his head and his back as if promising that everything would be fine.

“It’s okay, Mingyu.” Junhui finds himself staring into nothingness once again, except this time it’s warm. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

And Junhui doesn’t know how long he’s here for. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold this small fragment of sanity he’s managed to wake into, or how long the storm will last, but he knows that three minutes is all he’d ever need to save his world again. 

**_Case Closed_ **

Mingyu wakes up to an escape of fireflies in his chest, ticklish and soft feelings that come and go like flickering of fickle fireflies. His entire body aches like he ran a million miles last night, but his head feels light and refreshed like the exercise had done him some good.

_Last night._

Mingyu bolts up to the sight of his own room. The north-facing room’s morning sunlight creeps into the corners of his feet and with it comes the warmth that makes him shudder. 

_What happened?_ He asks himself. He was running in the storm. His hoodie was drenched with sweat and dirt and precipitation from the downpour that it was difficult to see. That’s right, he was running towards Junhui. Once again, Mingyu had found him lingering in the neighborhood of their apartment and had bolted into the callous climate with nothing to protect himself from who Junhui had possibly become.

“Good morning.”

Mingyu jerks towards the familiar voice. Junhui lays close, tucked beneath the thick blanket they had both shared like a stirring stray cat he’s picked up on the sidewalk, hungry for warmth and affection. His dark hair sticks out from the hem that hides his features, and Mingyu has the overwhelming urge to run his hand over those locks. Junhui sleeps soundly and calmly in a serene, vulnerable way Mingyu hasn’t seen in a long time. 

Mingyu misses him to the point of tears, and he looks away for one second to wipe his feelings. He met Junhui last night. _Junhui_ , and not the other persona. He swore he heard Junhui calling his name and telling him it was safe, that it was going to be alright, and he so desperately wanted to believe him.

Mingyu doesn't know what to say, except that it’s Wednesday morning and whatever had transcended the previous night was gone with the fleeting storm. Jeonghan doesn’t call him in the morning to relay a new case--a new murder with the same gruesome M.O. The first voice he gets to hear is Junhui’s and Junhui’s alone. He brings Junhui’s hand to his lips and hopes, _pray_ , that their transient moments of happiness will last for just a little longer.

“Should I do it for you?” Mingyu asks timidly, his hand resting on Junhui’s shoulder as he inches closer to the boy, his face knits with concerns and worries.

Junhui smiles, the sensation of the needle piercing his skin is itchy at most compared to the bleakness he’s felt, and he relishes the tingling feeling of the needle as he pushes the liquid in. 

“I’m fine,” he assumes a sweet smile. “It’s what keeps me from hurting you, I need to do this myself.”

Junhui leans back, the warmth of Mingyu’s hand on his shoulder the only sensation he feels as the drug takes over his mind, clouding the many overwhelming urges he’s been experiencing the moment his heart recognizes the man he loves. 

The drug keeps him alive. Alive as he stays in Mingyu’s arms. Alive as he feels love and affection towards the young boy when his mind isn’t taken over by the urge to kill. When Junhui can still imagine himself dying for Mingyu, the sound of his heartbeat thumping in his ears and his mind--he thinks that’s what it means to be _alive_. Even now as his consciousness trickles out from the influence of the drug.

Mingyu takes the syringe from Junhui’s hand and tosses it in the trash before helping the boy to bed. Junhui’s body is limp, much like the time he carried him home from the alley, but without the wounds decorating his arms and legs like before. Instead, Junhui is now another sort of broken with wounds that can’t easily be seen and healed. The faint scent of rubbing alcohol fills the air as he kicks open the door to Junhui’s bedroom, and Mingyu’s heart wrenches when Junhui snuggles further into his arms.

“I will find a cure for you, I swear it.”

Junhui stirs, his eyes hazy and his eyelids get heavy. The needle mark throbs like a paper cut, sweet and tender, and Junhui wonders what it would be like to be free from the drug one day. To not have these overwhelming needs for bloodshed every Tuesday night. To no longer look at the man he loves with an urge to break his rib cage and crush his heart.

His love runs too deep to be stopped at this point, and Junhui can only hope Mingyu will forgive him for having these thoughts as the drug flows in his veins. He can’t fathom the idea of losing Mingyu.

“ _Shh_ ,” Mingyu whispers, stroking his boyfriend’s hair and placing a kiss on his temple. “You’re fine now, sleep.”

Junhui wonders if this is what it feels like to see stars. He wants to go to dinner all of a sudden, on a Tuesday night without any interference of manslaughter needs or drugs that knock him out and put his mind in the clouds. He wants to have dinner on a Tuesday night under the lantern-filled street downtown, with bustling people and couples all living the same ordinary lives. He would order a simple noodle dish and end up taking half of Mingyu’s steak, and they would laugh together to the music and white noises of a typical Tuesday night.

Junhui wonders and drifts off to sleep. 

_Is it too much to wish for?_

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My original intention for this work was to have MCD and overall character death, but I decided to leave it as an open ending to hopefully write an alternate ending in the future. Maybe a short epilogue told from the other persona's POV, or a true alternate ending with MCD, not sure yet. Leave your suggestions? :)
> 
> find me on twitter @wenwooz !


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